


Not fond of asking

by AkaiaOwl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Trials, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Library, Library Sex, Redeemed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaiaOwl/pseuds/AkaiaOwl
Summary: The five times Draco and Hermione cared about each other without owning up to it and what happened when they finally did.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 95
Kudos: 737
Collections: 2020 Sounds Like Dramione





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [2020SoundsLikeDramione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2020SoundsLikeDramione) collection. 



> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Thank you Misdemeanor1331 for your encouragement and amazing beta skills. Your time and help are greatly appreciated!  
> The prompt for my story was:  
> "I know that she knows that I'm not fond of asking,  
> True or false, it may be,  
> She's still out to get me"  
> from Naive by The Kooks.

**_Sounds Like Dramione 2020 Competition Results_ **

**Winner: Best Draco Characterization**

**Runner-up: Best Hermione Characterization**

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - March, 1994_

It was not uncommon for Hermione Granger to mysteriously disappear for a while after her Potions lesson on Thursday evenings.

Most of Gryffindor’s third years were not oblivious to Hermione’s prolonged and random absences, especially Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They were her closest friends, after all. Nevertheless, every time they had brought it up, she dodged their questions and changed the topic, confusing the boys to no end.

By mid-December, Harry and Ron had dropped the subject completely and tried their best to feign indifference about their friend’s escapades. After all, it was hard to keep up the concern for someone who was so cryptic and increasingly snappy. It was easier to just assume that Hermione was buried behind a pile of books in the library, as she so often had been the last two years at school.

The truth was, however, that third year at Hogwarts was proving to be quite a challenge for Hermione. So much so that during the second week of classes, and after a particularly nasty comment from Snape about her “pathetic need to show off”, Hermione found herself rushing out of the dungeons and into the girl’s bathroom.

Surprisingly, the solitude and time to herself seemed to somehow make things more bearable. After crying a bit, she would take a deep breath and try to sort her jumbled mess of feelings into the deepest recesses of her mind.

Hermione would never admit it to anyone – _especially not_ to her best friends – but the academic load was overwhelming, which wasn’t helped by the fact that she felt as though no matter how hard she tried to be ahead in all of her classes, it was never enough. She couldn’t help but think back with bittersweet nostalgia at how she had so confidently taken on the challenge of attending extra classes with the Time Turner.

With what she felt was much less of an effort, Harry was always besting her at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not to mention the nightmare that Potions class was because of Snape’s occasional demeaning comments and his constant praises to Draco bloody Malfoy.

On a cold March evening, Hermione was sitting by herself near the lake, half-hidden under a big tree and purging herself of a particularly nasty week. She’d been so intent on taking deep, calming breaths, that for a long time she didn’t notice the sounds of someone approaching her. Hermione barely had time to hope the person would change their mind and turn the other way before she spotted the intruder.

His pale blonde head and aristocratic posture gave him away immediately.

She only just managed to stifle the annoyed grunt forming in her throat.

Nevertheless, and as though he could somehow sense her eyes on him, he turned and spotted her. Draco Malfoy frowned in annoyance.

“It’s a shame one cannot walk around school grounds without bumping into Mudbloods,” he sneered at her.

After the particularly trying week she’d endured, Hermione was not in the mood to put up with Malfoy’s bigotry.

“It’s a shame one cannot peacefully sit in school grounds without spotting narrow-minded prats,” she bit back, jutting out her chin defiantly.

Malfoy’s grey eyes narrowed into slits as he appraised her. Too late, Hermione noticed with horror that he could now see her tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. Mortified, she broke their eye contact and glanced at her lap.

“You came here to cry because Potter prefers the Weasel over you?” Malfoy asked with a mocking voice.

Hermione internally flinched at the taunt. The topic of her friendship with Ron and Harry was a very delicate one.

“It makes sense,” he continued mercilessly, “even a blood traitor is better than a Mudblood bint.”

She gaped at him with horror and hatred. Even coming from him, that had been a very cruel comment. Against her better reason, tears began pooling in the corner of her eyes once again. 

Malfoy’s smirk instantly faded and he nervously looked around. Even he seemed to realize he had gone a bit too far this time.

Furious at Malfoy and at her own weakness, Hermione set her jaw firmly and turned her head upwards but away from him, willing not a single tear to fall. Not while he was watching.

Malfoy cleared his throat and she heard rather than saw him taking a step back.

“You are alright though,” he drawled, making it sound almost like a question, as if every syllable had been wrenched from his lips. “I mean, there’s no need to summon Pomfrey?”

A moment passed and she could hear him shuffling his feet. Hermione focused on ignoring the burning in behind her lids.

“Just leave,” Hermione said coldly, refusing to even glance at him.

* * *

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - December, 1994_

“Did Krum get tired of your incessant talking already?” Draco asked, somehow lacking much of his usual cruelty.

His expression seemed more tired than anything and his eyes, for once, were not narrowed down at her.

“Is Parkinson so boring you had to come and pester me?” Hermione snarked immediately.

It was almost ten o’clock and she was sitting in the furthest end of the embellished Great Hall waiting for Viktor and the Butterbeers. She was fuming after her brief confrontation with Ron just moments ago, during which he had thrown ridiculous accusations at her for agreeing to be Viktor’s date to the Ball and even dared to question her loyalty to Harry. Hermione had been aghast at the foul words coming out of her friend’s mouth and was even more hurt by the fact that Harry’s defense of her had been underwhelming.

She'd bristled away from her friends’ table and found a place as far away from them as possible, hoping to regain her bearings. Unluckily for her, Malfoy, who at first appeared to also be looking for a peaceful place to sit, had spotted her a few minutes later and unsurprisingly made his way over to annoy her.

But nothing would ruin the Yule Ball for her, not Ron’s stupid accusations or Malfoy’s disparaging comments.

She could feel his cold stare boring holes through her head, but Hermione kept her gaze fixed stubbornly elsewhere, ignoring him as best as she could. She knew denying him attention would bother the egoistical prat more than any witty comeback.

After a while, the Weird Sisters ended their song and Hermione was finally able to spot Viktor amongst the sea of smiling couples. He looked a bit out of place as he looked around the ballroom for her, his big frame sticking out in the crowd. As soon as his gaze landed on her, he smiled and walked towards her carrying two large Butterbeers. Hermione couldn’t help the blush that colored her cheeks and wasted no time in joining him, all thoughts about Ron, disloyalty, and Malfoy forgotten.

Viktor’s dark gaze and broad grin kept her blissfully distracted the rest of the evening. At midnight, when the Weird Sisters finished their act and everyone gave a last loud round of applause, Hermione looked up at her dancing partner with a soft smile. It had truly been a magnificent night.

Out in the Entrance Hall, a flushed Hermione kissed Viktor’s cheek goodnight, feeling somewhat self-conscious. She was oblivious of her two best friends lurking close behind, watching the whole exchange. Viktor left and she turned to make her way up the marble staircase.

She found Ron’s angry stare fixed on her, following her every move. Hermione set her jaw and chose to ignore it; she did not have the energy to put up with any more drama. Throwing a withering look his way, she flounced past him up the magnificent staircase without so much as a word.

Hermione made her way angrily through the halls, not bothering to acknowledge the few people that looked at her curiously. Intent as she was to reach Gryffindor tower as quickly as possible, she’d forgotten that the staircase she was currently climbing tended to randomly veer in a different direction at exactly half past midnight. Mid-step and without having a hold on the banister, Hermione wobbled and fought to catch her balance, a difficult task in her new, slightly heeled shoes.

Someone behind her reached out and steadied her, stopping her short of stumbling down the stairs.

“Are you alright?” an unmistakable voice said.

She whipped around, flinching away from the steady hand in the middle of her back.

He seemed to realize who she was a few moments later, and his face hardened a bit as he appraised her.

Hermione steeled herself for the inevitable insult.

Malfoy, however, seemed somewhat frozen on the spot. For once, it appeared as though he had nothing to say.

Probably disgusted at having touched a Mudblood, Hermione thought viciously.

The staircase finally anchored itself onto a new hall, and Hermione wasted no time in climbing the remaining stairs and getting as far away from him as possible.

* * *

_The Hogwarts Express - June, 1996_

London was still thirty minutes away, and Hermione decided to venture from the compartment she currently shared with Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Neville. Her mind, as always, went a mile a minute as she thought about the recent events she and her friends had faced during their adventure in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione was sure that, now that Voldemort’s return had been confirmed, the whole wizarding community would be on high alert. Nothing would be the same, and maybe it was for the best that everyone was aware that they were once again in the middle of a war.

Despite being deep in thought while making her way through the packed train, Hermione found it odd to see an empty compartment a little farther down. The door was closed with magic, she noted when she tried giving it a nudge and it remained in place. Intrigued, Hermione drew her wand and muttered a spell.

The door opened, and she could hear the unmistakable sound of heavy breaths.

But she was alone, wasn’t she?

Puzzled, Hermione looked around and finally located the source of the noise. Three deformed and barely identifiable lumps lay hoisted up in the farthest luggage rack. Judging from the Hogwarts uniforms they were squeezed into, they had once been students. She scrunched up her face in disgust.

Making good on her role as Prefect, Hermione thought about the spell needed to reverse this rather nasty amalgamation of jinxes. She failed to notice, however, the silver and green streaks on the uniforms until it was too late. She had already muttered a counter-jinx, pointing at the lump closest to her.

She immediately saw it morph into a more human-looking figure.

At once, enraged grey eyes locked on hers. Hermione groaned.

“Great,” she said with a huff.

Silence.

“Are you alright?” she tried again, asking the first thing that came to mind.

Judging by the lack of insults, Hermione figured that Malfoy was still under the influence of one too many jinxes. As she glanced at the other two deformed figures, Hermione thought she could recognize Crabbe and Goyle.

Sighing, she muttered a few more counter-jinxes. Some of the magic she could undo, some of the magic would just have to wear off with time. At least they wouldn’t be as bad off as they were now once they reached London, Hermione thought with dark amusement. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to help at least a little, even if they didn’t deserve it.

As she left the compartment, laughter bubbled up from her chest. It seemed like a fitting ending to an otherwise trying school year.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - January, 1997_

Hermione had been studying her astronomy charts when she absentmindedly realized she needed to use the facilities. A few seconds later, she hastily made her way through the library corridor and up the staircase leading to the second floor.

It was no surprise to find the second-floor girls’ lavatory empty, and Hermione mentally thanked Merlin for this. Not even Moaning Myrtle seemed to be in her usual stall, which really was a relief.

However, Hermione was not alone for long.

Shortly after she entered a random stall, Hermione heard quick paces entering the large lavatory. Distractedly, she heard a faint, shuddering breath and even more shuffling and movement.

Hermione carelessly unlocked the door and, just as she was swinging it open, heard a deep, hushed whisper.

“Myrtle, is that you?”

It was definitely a male voice.

She heard a whoosh coming from a couple of stalls on her left and ducked back into her cubicle.

“I thought you wouldn’t come here again,” Moaning Myrtle’s familiar, poignant voice said, echoing in the walls.

Hermione heard a shuddering sob which was definitely not Myrtle’s. Mildly interested, she kept quiet and tried to decipher any of the words being whispered.

After a few minutes passed and it became clear that by silently sitting in her cubicle she was only wasting her precious study time, Hermione resolved to leave the lavatory. Those astronomy charts wouldn’t study themselves, after all.

She stepped out of the cubicle rather brusquely.

Before her was the last person she expected to find in such a predicament.

Hermione halted abruptly and gaped at Draco Malfoy’s battered-looking form, slumped on the lavatory floor and having what appeared to be a heart-to-heart with Moaning bloody Myrtle.

Malfoy’s head snapped in her direction, his previously soulful eyes narrowing into angry grey slits.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he all but snarled at her.

Hermione took a couple of hesitant steps in his direction. Was he hurt? It certainly didn’t appear so. Why was he here? Myrtle had mentioned earlier that this was not the first time he’d been here.

“What do you fucking want Granger?” Malfoy asked, his voice rising in alarm when he noticed she was inching closer.

Now only a couple of feet away from him, Hermione was able to appraise him. Gone was his carefully kempt appearance, gone was the usual cold confidence in his stance.

She’d never seen Draco Malfoy looking worse.

“Are… Are you alright?” Hermione asked quietly, unable to help herself.

“Of course he’s not!” Myrtle cried at her rudely.

“What is it to you?” Malfoy barked almost at the same time.

Hermione’s expression hardened and she turned to leave.

As she sat at her favorite place in the library and prepared to resume her examination of astronomy maps, Hermione couldn’t help but think back at what she had witnessed. It was true that, despite it being only the second month of the term, they were already buried nose-deep in homework. However, for some reason, Hermione was sure that Draco Malfoy’s distress was definitely not academically related.

Sometime later in the Gryffindor common room, Harry was once again insisting that Malfoy was up to something. Ron listened to him without comment and glanced at Hermione with a light grin, clearly amused with his friend’s speculations that his nemesis was a Death Eater. She thought back to Malfoy’s distressed expression and wondered if she should recall the bizarre scene for her friends.

Somehow, and for a reason she didn’t quite understand, Hermione felt uncomfortable at the mere idea of morbidly speculating about someone’s pain. Even if that hypothetical someone was an entitled prat.

Hermione decided against it.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - May, 1998_

Malfoy stared at the place where the door to the Room of Requirement had been with a shocked expression.

“Cra-Crabbe,” he choked out amidst a violent fit of coughing, horror quickly beginning to slacken his sharp features. “Crabbe!”

“He’s dead,” Ron bit unceremoniously at him.

Hermione coughed, still struggling to vanish the corrupting smoke from her throat and lungs. The others were trying to compose themselves around her, everyone still somewhat dazed.

It wasn’t until several ghosts lunged in their direction from the other side of the hall that someone finally moved. Harry scrambled to his feet and glanced down the hall, where the noises of the ongoing battle could be heard. The continuous choir of screams slowly began to register. It could only mean that the Death Eaters had passed through the magical wards and finally infiltrated the castle’s walls.

Hermione felt her stomach painfully drop at the idea.

She vaguely registered Ron and Harry discussing Ginny’s whereabouts and possibly splitting up to search for her.

“No,” she intervened firmly, “Let’s stick together. I say we go–”

The words died on her throat as she noticed the old, discolored tiara hanging loosely from Harry’s arm. It was charred almost beyond recognition.

“Harry, what’s that on your arm?”

Harry choked out a few words. A dark, thick liquid seeped out of the blackened diadem that had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. Harry suddenly flinched at the thing in his hand as it abruptly broke apart.

“It must have been Fiendfyre!” she exclaimed with both shock and fear. They certainly were lucky to have gotten out of the Room of Requirement alive.

As she explained what Fiendfyre was and how it was one of the most dangerous options to destroy a Horcrux, her brain churned restlessly. With the diadem gone, there was only one Horcrux left.

Just as she was explaining this to her two friends, loud shrieks invaded the hall. The shock of red hair was the first thing she registered before noticing the hooded masks. Hermione ran to help Fred and Percy without a second thought.

She heard Percy and Fred screaming somewhere to her right as they deflected several spells and managed to hit some of the Death Eaters.

She felt it and saw it before she heard it.

It all happened too fast.

Everything around them flew to pieces, everyone and everything dispersed into unrecognizable shards. Suddenly, Hermione was powerfully thrown from her feet and landed several feet back, debris breaking her fall. She could feel her body crushed by several heavy rocks from what once had been the seventh-floor corridor. All Hermione could register was a hot, sharp pain in every one of her limbs.

A few moments later, she felt some of the weight lift off her legs and looked down in gratefulness and confusion. If Hermione weren’t in so much pain, she would have surely been flooded with shock to see Draco Malfoy kneeling beside her, helping her.

He looked every bit as battered as she felt.

Once he’d removed the debris trapping Hermione’s legs, he winced and dragged himself closer to her.

“Granger, are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, irrational, primal fear shot through her. She was painfully aware of how vulnerable she was, trapped under the wrecked boulders of the castle and all but wandless. Malfoy’s jaw clenched when he recognized the expression in her face and he stopped pulling himself closer.

Hermione craned her neck around as much as her current predicament allowed, frantically searching for her wand. If she could only get to it, she would feel safer, she thought desperately just as she noticed that her right arm, her wand arm, lay beneath the fallen debris.

Suddenly, she had regained most of her mobility as the biggest boulders were not trapping her any longer.

She glanced at Malfoy, but he was not looking at her. He had dragged himself a few feet away and was clutching something in his hands.

Her wand. The wand that had previously belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.

She felt the blood drain away from her face.

Malfoy had lost his wand to Harry and then lost his mother’s wand to the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.

All too fast, unreadable grey eyes pierced her, and he clambered to his feet. Her wand was still held on one of his hands.

And then Draco Malfoy did the last thing she expected him to do.

He walked a couple of steps towards her and extended his hand, offering Hermione his aunt’s wand.

She ripped it from his hand without hesitation and scrambled backward and away from him, lest he changed his mind.

Malfoy chuckled darkly. A low sound that barely registered in the chaos around them.

Hermione glanced at the wand in her hand, the very representation of her life at this moment, still in disbelief.

When she finally looked up, Malfoy was long gone.

The events that followed were painfully distorted and jumbled in her overanxious mind. After living through what seemed to be the worst moments of her life, Hermione felt strangely detached. Adrenaline and the pure will to live guided her on those last few hours, pushing her forward into a fight that seemed to never end. She couldn’t even remember when it all had begun.

Afterward, Hermione glanced at the three Malfoys, awkwardly huddled in the middle of what had once been the magnificent Great Hall. She couldn’t help but feel the tiniest pang in her chest.

He hadn’t identified them at Malfoy Manor, which Hermione had credited to a random fluke of good luck for them. She hadn’t thought back on it at all, too occupied with finding the missing Horcruxes. But then he’d helped her out of the rubble and given her Bellatrix’s wand, even though it meant he’d be unarmed during the battle. And now Hermione was thinking back on everything and could not find a reasonable explanation for any of it.

Unless it meant that Draco Malfoy, for some reason, had decided to turn his back on Voldemort and the Death Eaters. On his parents and childhood friends. On the pure-blood values he prided himself in.

But why?

A dull pounding on the left side of her head indicated that she was too stressed out and tired. Or that she probably had a concussion.

Hermione credited the wild thoughts and feelings running through her mind to the many sleepless nights that had preceded this very moment and the adrenaline rush of brushing off against almost-certain death.

Before she glanced away from the blonde family, his piercing gaze caught her own, locking her in place. For once, they showed only profound uncertainty. A feeling that very much mirrored her own.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1998_

Hermione had expected to see many familiar faces upon her return to Hogwarts.

What she had not expected was for her gaze to unexpectedly lock with the familiar grey eyes that often featured in her nightmares about the war.

Nobody had mentioned to her that _he’d_ be here.

After a while, Hermione noticed that nobody seemed to care that he was. It was as if there was an unspoken agreement about the matter. One that she was definitely not privy to.

His posture was perfect as always.

His appearance was carefully kempt.

Nevertheless, there seemed to be something crucially different about Draco Malfoy, and Hermione couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She found her gaze often traveled towards him, drawn to the mystery he had become and eager to figure it out. It was unsettling that she was able to instinctively find him anywhere in the room, even when not consciously searching for him.

And he was always there, lurking in the background and, curiously enough, trying to make himself go as unnoticed as possible. And it worked. As far as the Hogwarts alumni and professors were concerned, Draco Malfoy’s presence in the castle was something to be tolerated and ignored as much as Peeves’ was.

But notice him she did.

During her observations, Hermione noted that on some days there seemed to be unmistakable sorrow behind Malfoy’s carefully aloof posture, and she couldn’t help but be puzzled. It was hard to reconcile her old school rival to the distant, stoic shell he had become. It was even harder to reconcile the obnoxious, conceited teenage boy she had hated so much to the reticent and guarded man he was now.

It unnerved her.

* * *

Sometime during her first month back, Hermione sat in her usual corner alcove in the library, immersed in the Advanced Arithmancy book Professor Vector had recommended as a good source for optional reading. She briefly lifted her head from the complicated numbers and charts, stretching her sore neck and glancing around absentmindedly. By now, Hermione was already used to being the only student in the library at this time of day.

Most students preferred to take Sundays off, especially this early in the morning.

Her gaze halted when she noticed a familiar blonde head. Draco Malfoy sat at the exact opposite corner from hers, apparently engrossed with the contents of a heavy-looking book. Several books were piled up near him and he had several rolls of parchment, as if he expected to take long notes.

Because they shared most of their classes, Hermione knew for a fact that Draco Malfoy had no long essays due the following week.

She squinted, trying to make out the titles of the books.

Almost as if he had felt the weight of her gaze on him, Malfoy turned around, immediately zoning in on her.

He held her gaze, his expression carefully blank.

“What are you reading about?” Hermione blurted, unable to stop herself and self-conscious about being caught staring.

For a moment, Malfoy looked at her in surprise.

“Alchemy,” he answered curtly, his expression detached again.

“Oh.” 

Not finding anything else to say and still mortified at her outburst, Hermione turned away and refocused on her own reading material.

Alchemy was the one N.E.W.T. level elective Hermione had decided to pass on, despite having more than sufficient marks in both Potions and Transfiguration. The events of her first year in Hogwarts, and witnessing the ambition the Philosopher’s Stone elicited in many, had determined her decision to steer clear of this branch of magic that proved it could do more harm than good.

It wasn’t too hard to figure out why someone like Malfoy would want eternal life and wealth, Hermione reasoned. She tried to dismiss all Malfoy-related thoughts from her mind. Nevertheless, and despite her efforts on the contrary, Hermione remained unsatisfied with the thought that Malfoy’s ambition was his only motivation. It somehow didn’t add up to this new, guarded version of him.

Draco Malfoy’s presence in the opposite corner to Hermione’s favorite spot in the library became a constant.

Maybe he was there to annoy her like he so often did in the past, Hermione thought dismissively at first. But as days went by without a single taunt or comment, she eased into the realization that he might just be there because he enjoyed studying in a well-lit, quiet corner. Much like she did.

Sometimes he’d be there earlier than her. Sometimes he would stay the entire day, not even taking a break to have lunch or dinner at the Great Hall. On most days, they’d leave the library right before curfew, at the same time but never together.

Every time she took a break from reading, Hermione’s gaze traveled to her unusual companion in their mostly-empty area of the library.

_What exactly was he up to?_ Hermione would often find herself wondering. After what had happened in their sixth year, she was convinced that, if anything, Draco Malfoy was not one to be underestimated.

* * *

One Wednesday afternoon, Hermione was struggling with a particularly challenging number chart for Advanced Arithmancy.

“Granger?”

“Hmm? I’m busy with-” she began absentmindedly before she fully comprehended that it was Malfoy who had spoken to her. She stopped mid-sentence and snapped her head around in surprise.

“I was wondering if you’ve managed to figure out the number chart for Arithmancy already,” he drawled, somehow making it sound like a question.

“As a matter of fact, I _was_ working on it just now,” Hermione answered pointedly.

“Oh, right,” Malfoy said, setting his jaw. His stance was guarded once again.

Hermione immediately felt an unexpected pang of regret. After all, it had been a harmless question.

Without giving herself time to think it through, Hermione grabbed her books and parchment and made her way over to the opposite corner of the library alcove. She set her things down in the seat next to Malfoy and turned on her heel to bring over her remaining rolls of parchment, quills, and ink.

Narrowed grey eyes followed her as she returned to her new seat.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought we could try to figure this out together,” she said matter-of-factly, somehow sounding much more confident than she felt.

Malfoy lifted a brow at her.

“Let me see what you have so far then,” he said.

Malfoy was challenging her.

Hermione handed him her parchment and busied herself with arranging her things the way they had been back at her corner.

“You almost got to the same place as me,” he commented without a trace of malice as he scanned her process.

He frowned, deep in thought.

“Here,” Malfoy said, handing her his own parchment. “I’ve only managed to figure out one more line.”

Hermione looked at his chart, taking in the slightly slanted writing that filled almost the whole parchment. She quickly came to the conclusion that everything was correctly done.

“The problem is that I don’t know how to possibly go on from here,” Malfoy said in frustration. “I’ve been stuck for a while.”

“Right,” Hermione said, chewing on her lower lip and grabbing her copy of _Numerology and Grammatica_. “Sometimes a new perspective helps.”

With practiced ease, she opened the book and skimmed over the contents of a couple of chapters, sometimes adding observations to the margins of her well-worn book. Malfoy busied himself doing the same.

After about fifty minutes, Hermione exclaimed in victory and pushed the book to Malfoy’s side to show him what she’d found. A couple of paragraphs had been marked with small red dots to point out their importance.

“I know it doesn’t solve the problem, but at least it helps understand how to interpret the question better,” she said as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy’s concentrated frown as he read the passages. After a couple of minutes, his stare lifted up from the page, the glint within the grey indicated more emotion than what she’d seen from him since the term had begun. He handed her his own book, similarly marked and scribbled throughout. Their observations fit like puzzle pieces.

They worked in relative silence for the remainder of the afternoon, only speaking to compare notes and point out helpful chapters or new bibliography.

After what seemed like only a couple of hours, Madam Pince announced they had fifteen minutes before curfew. Hermione had been so immersed in her chart that she snapped her head up with a start at the warning.

She noticed Malfoy’s side of the table was already empty.

“Night, Granger,” Malfoy said as he slung his leather satchel into place and parted without looking back.

The next week, Hermione was the one to ask if he had already finished his Arithmancy assignment.

* * *

By November, working together on Wednesday afternoons became an unspoken agreement between them.

Hermione learned that Malfoy was actually a good study partner, albeit a quiet one. He was quick-witted and very keen on details. As someone who more often than not felt comfortable working on her own, it was a refreshing experience for Hermione.

As she eased into this new routine and minimally lowered her guard, Hermione had to admit that the quiet companionship was also welcome. Even if it came from someone so guarded. She secretly cherished having a respite from recounting the events of the war, a topic that was somehow always brought up whenever she talked to any of the people who had decided to return for their final year. Hermione missed Harry and Ron dearly and, although it was hard to admit, spending time at the Gryffindor common room felt bittersweet without them.

Maybe that was the reason she often escaped to the library. If she busied herself enough, there were no unwanted memories to face.

By early December, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger sat together even when working on separate assignments. They never talked to each other outside of the library alcove. They exchanged a few sentences every time and, except from the occasional pleasantries, never spoke about things not academically-related.

One of them always left before the other could gather their things, both secretly dreading the awkward conversation that would ensue if they ever found themselves walking out of the library together.

As December progressed and the cold chill of the winter became an ever-present companion, Hermione found it hard to keep her concentration. She had always been quite sensitive to cold and took to conjuring bright blue flames and carrying them around in jars, much like she had done during her first year.

The Friday before Christmas break, Malfoy found Hermione sitting at their usual table, surrounded by glowing jam jars and taking notes at lightning speed.

“Good, you’re finally here,” she commented, not lifting her stare from the parchment she was currently scribbling on. “I’m almost done with Slughorn’s essay and then we can work on the Arithmancy chart.”

Soon enough, they realized that Professor Vector had outdone herself with the assignment. It became obvious that they would need at least a couple of days to work on it.

Hours later, after glancing at the big clock on the wall, Hermione began packing up her various books and parchments. “Well, we could probably wrap it up by Monday afternoon,” Hermione reasoned as she mentally went over their progress.

“I’m going home for the holidays.”

“Oh,” she stood up and struggled with her heavy bag. A few seconds passed before Hermione realized she probably should say something else, given that they wouldn’t see each other in several days. “I hope you have a good time.”

And Hermione really meant it.

As she turned on her heel and left the secluded alcove, Hermione thought she could hear him saying something.

* * *

Hermione also spent the holidays away from Hogwarts.

At first, she had rejected Ginny’s offer to head to the Burrow for purely sentimental reasons. Christmas reminded her too much of her estranged parents, and it somehow felt wrong to celebrate it without them. And replace them with another family. And be happy without them.

Besides, Hermione had contemplated, these would probably be the last holidays she _would_ spend at Hogwarts.

Nevertheless, the youngest Weasley, by all accounts someone not to be messed with, managed to convince Hermione by arranging a very persuasive surprise Floo call with both Harry and Ron. Ginny had also pointed out that, if she chose to stay, Hermione would probably spend the holidays alone at the castle while everyone was out celebrating.

“Luna told me that even the ghosts will be gone,” Ginny said with a snort after hearing about Hermione’s Christmas plans.

The mere thought of spending several days in the deserted halls where she knew many of her friends had died was enough for Hermione to reconsider her initial choice to stay at Hogwarts.

* * *

The days at the Burrow were always filled with various activities and things to do, which helped at keeping her own thoughts at bay. Also, there were other inane problems that kept Hermione constantly distracted from dwelling too much on more important and more painful memories. The main inane problem was, of course, the issue of her romantic relationship with Ron.

Back in July, Ron and Hermione had talked about their budding relationship and their expectations for the future. To no one’s surprise (except maybe Ron’s), it turned out that they had very different goals set for themselves. They were also on different pages regarding their immediate future: Ron wanted to begin his Auror training immediately alongside Harry, while Hermione wanted to finish her education at Hogwarts and take her N.E.W.T.s before venturing on to a career at the Ministry of Magic. 

“I cannot very well apply with a resume that shows an incomplete magical education,” Hermione had said, scandalized.

After several arguments, it had become clear that neither of them would give up their short-term plans. The relationship quickly deteriorated from then onwards and, by the time September rolled around, Ron and Hermione were officially giving each other space. Despite their long friendship, they were very much tiptoeing around each other in an attempt to avoid the awkwardness.

The Weasleys, and especially Molly, seemed to believe that the time off in Ron and Hermione’s relationship was just a phase, and they still went out of their way to treat them as a couple. Molly sat them together at every meal. Ginny always commented on her brother’s whereabouts, even when Hermione didn’t ask. Arthur always paired them when assigning them chores. Fleur had the nerve to ask Hermione, “If she’d already zought about a date for ze wedding.” George, still a grief-stricken and watered-down version of himself, found it in him to come up with funny remarks to tease his youngest brother.

Hermione often found herself alone with Ron and noticed that everyone seemed to be doing it on purpose. Every time this happened, one of them would suddenly remember they had something to do elsewhere and hurry off. They were both dreading the imminent conversation they needed to have because both of them knew what the outcome would be. And neither were ready to face what that could possibly mean for their friendship.

* * *

On Christmas morning, Hermione awoke to a flurry of excitement and noise. Everyone seemed to be in a great mood, and she was no exception. There was so much to be grateful for and so many people to cherish and remember, after all. Molly forced them all into having breakfast before opening the gifts and insisted that, “We have to do it as a family.” Hermione couldn’t help but feel warm and grateful at the fact that Molly considered her a part of the family and felt sad at the thought that the woman might not feel the same after she realized that Ron and her would never be together.

After breakfast, Arthur asked Ron and Hermione to help with the dishes. They worked in companionable silence, Ron washing the dishes with magic and Hermione drying and placing them away.

“How has the training been?” Hermione asked as she toweled the dishes the Muggle way.

Ron looked away from the pile of soapy crockery with a start.

“Uh, good, I guess,” he said, “though Harry and I sometimes wish we’d gone back to Hogwarts for our final DADA classes.”

Hermione scoffed teasingly.

“Yes, yes, you said so, we know,” Ron said with a smile and waved his wand in her direction, sending some of the soapy bubbles her way.

Hermione let out a surprised laugh and pulled out her wand in retaliation.

A few seconds passed before they noticed Ginny at the door watching them, a broad grin on her face.

“Who would have thought that mom’s Christmas miracle would be granted,” Ginny commented before turning on her heel and leaving them alone in the kitchen once again.

Ron looked at Hermione and rolled his eyes at his sister’s retreating form. Hermione smiled as she realized Ron was not as oblivious to his family’s antics as he made out to be.

She had missed this easy friendship between them, this uncomplicated dynamic they always had. By adding romance, they had been asking too much out of something so pure and simple. And it had clearly been a mistake.

The knowing look reflected in Ron’s face made it obvious that he was also aware of that.

* * *

Later that day, the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry crowded into the small living room and opened their gifts. Hermione’s gifts consisted of various flavors of candy, a Weasley sweater, a Weasley’s Wizard and Wheezes gift card, and several beautiful new quills and parchment. She had received a lot more gifts than she had expected, and that warmed her heart.

She hoped Monica and Wendell Wilkins liked the presents she’d picked out for them. They’d probably already received them.

Almost everyone had finished opening their gifts and thanking each other, when a big, grey owl carrying a package entered gracefully through the window. Confused glances and comments were exchanged as the presumptuous eagle owl deposited a package right on Hermione’s lap.

Indeed, the flashy green package had a note addressed to Hermione

Hermione could feel everyone’s curious stares as she read the note attached to the gift. Slanted, cursive writing filled the small white card. It was a familiar and elegant penmanship that Hermione had never expected to see outside of Hogwarts, not to mention on something addressed to her.

_I hope you have a good time, too. - D.M._

Even after all of the unexpected and bizarre things she’d lived through, receiving a Christmas gift from Draco Malfoy was definitely something she had never expected to experience in her lifetime.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, his voice high with curiosity.

Hermione was speechless with surprise. And that didn’t happen often.

From its shape and weight, it was obvious that the package most likely contained a book. She tore the expensive wrapping with slightly trembling fingers, the cynical part of her half-expecting it to explode on touch and a bigger part of her just shaking with mixed feelings of gratefulness and astonishment.

She looked at it with awe. It was an elegantly bound copy of _Behind Numerology and Grammatica: A Profound Study of the Logical Art of Arithmancy_ , a book that Hermione knew for a fact had been out of print for several decades, or even centuries. She opened it with awe, her fingers splaying over the soft pages. It was a first edition.

By New Year’s Eve, Hermione had already devoured the contents of the heavy tome.

* * *

When the time for goodbyes rolled around, Hermione found herself feeling a lot more peaceful than when she’d arrived at the Burrow. It had been a good decision to come here, she decided.

Hermione hugged Harry and each of the Weasleys tightly, except for Ginny who would be Flooing back with her to the Gryffindor common room. Overall, Hermione was grateful for the Weasleys’ companionship during the holidays. She’d forgotten how much she needed to feel like she was a part of something.

At last, Hermione stood before Ron. She could feel the excitement and tension in the air. If she were to turn around, she was sure that several pairs of eyes would be trained on them, giddy to take in their interaction.

“Good luck with everything,” Hermione said. “Write to me.”

She approached him and hugged him tightly, too.

“We might not belong together, but we’ll always be friends,” he whispered.

It was as if an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“We’ll always be friends,” she said back.

Hermione smiled sadly as she entered the chimney and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. Her last glimpse of the Burrow was Molly’s dejected face and a couple of confused expressions at Ron and Hermione’s very platonic farewell.

* * *

January in Hogwarts felt even colder than December. And that was saying a lot.

Hermione had been somewhat nervous about her imminent run-in with Draco Malfoy in the library. She was still unsure about addressing the gift personally.

Of course, Hermione had sent a beautifully penned thank you note back to Malfoy Manor shortly after receiving the gift. Nevertheless, she still felt a bit guilty about not thinking about getting Draco Malfoy anything for Christmas. But then again, what could you buy for someone whose family had more money than she could ever earn in her lifetime? She had thought about it a lot every night, when the noise had finally died down at the Burrow.

What could possibly make Draco Malfoy happy?

On Monday afternoon, Hermione found herself equally anticipating and dreading going to the library.

But he wasn’t there.

By Tuesday afternoon, and after not seeing him at the Great Hall or at any of their shared classes, it became obvious that Draco Malfoy had not returned to Hogwarts after the holidays. And nobody seemed to mind. Scratch that. Nobody, not even the Slytherins, seemed to have noticed at all.

After her double period of Transfigurations on Friday, Hermione lingered in the classroom, watching her teacher closely and waiting for the other students to leave. When Hannah Abbott finally stepped out, Hermione took a deep breath and approached McGonagall.

“Is something the matter, Miss Granger?” McGonagall asked as she approached Hermione, taking in her student’s hesitance.

“Not at all Professor,” she answered. “I just happened to notice that Draco Malfoy has not returned after the holidays and was wondering why.”

Minerva McGonagall examined Hermione for a few seconds. “Yes, that’s right,” she finally said.

Was his absence planned then?

“Has something happened?” Hermione decided to push.

The older woman motioned for Hermione to follow her out of the classroom.

“Mr. Malfoy has several preliminary hearings this week at the Wizengamot.”

“Oh, but I thought Lucius Malfoy’s case was settled,” Hermione commented.

“The hearings are for his own Wizengamot investigation,” McGonagall explained. “He could potentially be sent to Azkaban.”

The two witches stopped at the entrance to the Headmaster’s Office.

“Bu-but the Wizengamot Code for Criminal Procedure grants the right to education for the accused! Nobody can be deprived of completing their magical training!” Hermione exclaimed in surprise.

McGonagall glanced at her brightest student with unveiled curiosity.

“Indeed, Miss Granger,” the older woman conceded, “but nothing prevents the Wizengamot from sending someone they deem responsible to Azkaban once they complete their magical education.”

Of course it made sense, Hermione thought.

“Is anything else the matter?” McGonagall asked, unreadable as always.

“No, thank you, Professor.”

Before she could think about it, her feet were instinctively taking her to the Gryffindor common room. She was in no mood to spend the afternoon in the library.

* * *

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning that Hermione finally spotted Draco Malfoy amongst the crowd in the Great Hall.

He stared at the untouched food on his plate. Hermione noted that he looked even more emotionless and distracted than usual, his face a blank canvas and his gaze lost in the distance.

During Arithmancy, Hermione noticed that he did not take a single note on the ridiculously complex exercise Professor Vector was explaining on the board. During Charms, he failed to answer Professor Flitwick’s question.

_Had the preliminary hearings gone so bad?_ Hermione wondered. If she were in imminent danger of being sent to Azkaban, she would probably be distant and angry, too.

By late Wednesday afternoon, Hermione made her way to her usual corner of the library half-expecting Malfoy not to be there. Yet, as she approached the alcove, she was surprised to see the shape of his back and shoulders crouching over their favorite table.

“Hi,” Hermione said as she slid to the seat next to him.

He only nodded in acknowledgment, still looking down at his notes.

Hermione realized that this was probably not the time to bring up their Arithmancy homework and settled for working on her Charms assignments. Nevertheless, and even though she was trying very hard to concentrate, Hermione was consonantly nagged by thoughts of green packages and the Ministry of Magic’s cold corridors. She stole a couple of glances at the stoic boy next to her and wondered how someone so young could possibly survive a place as harsh as Azkaban.

She was halfway done with her essay about the importance of the Gouging Spell when she finally decided to address him.

“I-uh, by the way, thanks again for the book.”

Hermione wanted to disappear as soon as the words left her mouth.

Draco Malfoy finally looked up at her. “Don’t mention it.”

His grey eyes locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze making her feel exposed, and Hermione had to look away. She finished her essay in silence and began to read ahead for her upcoming classes. Hermione felt him shuffling next to her but didn’t look up or dare initiate conversation again. She was sure Draco would resent her if he found out she knew about the preliminary hearings.

Madam Pince announced the fifteen-minute warning before curfew and Hermione stalled, taking more time than necessary to pack her things and giving him plenty of time to leave. But Draco Malfoy didn’t move. In fact, he seemed as reluctant as her to leave their alcove.

Hermione surreptitiously observed him as he packed his various books and materials, her hair doing a good job of concealing her face.

To say that Draco Malfoy looked worn down would be an understatement: gone were his aristocratic airs and carefully collected demeanor.

“I could lend you my notes if you need them,” she said quietly.

He stopped mid-way between placing the final book inside his satchel looking confused. “What?”

“So you can catch up in the classes you missed,” Hermione explained, straightening with some difficulty due to the weight of her heavy bag.

He let out a dry laugh that lacked any trace of humor.

Of course something as mundane as classes would be inconsequential under his current circumstances, Hermione reasoned. She felt foolish for offering in the first place. She took a deep breath and began walking away from their shared corner of the library.

Swift footsteps quickly caught up with her.

“Granger, I-”

She turned around in surprise to face a slightly breathless Draco Malfoy.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” she answered.

They walked together to the library’s entrance in a comfortable silence, and he nodded at her before heading to the Slytherin dungeons.

After that, Draco always waited for her to exit the library together.


	3. Chapter 3

January and February passed.

March came around and, with it, a warmer temperature.

Hermione noticed that Draco was becoming less guarded around her. They still avoided talking about personal things and the war, but their conversation had moved on from merely academic topics. Hermione was glad to learn that he enjoyed talking about literature and politics almost as much as she did. And, despite having different literary interests and perspectives about what the priorities of the Ministry of Magic should be, Hermione found it enjoyable to speak to someone so well-informed.

A particular Friday evening, they had finished their Transfigurations essays early and had embarked on a heated discussion about the Ministry’s budget plans.

“All that aside, I still can’t fathom why the justice system will have a ten percent increase in budget for next year,” Draco said, sounding bitter.

Hermione knew why.

“It’s because they want to implement an alternative security system for Azkaban,” she said, busying herself with her hair to avoid eye contact. “There will be no more Dementors guarding the prisoners.”

Draco was silent, considering the implications of her words.

“More Aurors then?” he said in a mocking tone. “I doubt they would enjoy working as babysitters.”

Hermione risked a glance at him. “I think prisoners deserve humane treatment.”

“The Death Eaters that killed your friends deserve humane treatment?” Draco drawled, his eyebrow shooting upwards.

It was another one of his challenges.

“People are judged by the decisions they make,” Hermione said, not breaking their eye contact. “No one is completely good or completely bad.”

All traces of teasing faded from Draco’s face. Now it was his turn to glance away.

“How did the preliminary hearings go?” Hermione asked before she lost her nerve.

His inscrutable grey eyes locked on hers.

“How do you kn- No, I won’t even ask,” he said curtly as he set his jaw.

Hermione held his gaze without wavering, silently challenging him. She knew that her question had breached their unspoken agreement of avoiding referring to their personal lives. Nevertheless, the subject had been dancing around her head for months.

“The Wizengamot is aware of the extent of my _involvement_ and has decided accordingly,” he finally said, spitting the word _involvement_ with disgust.

“What does that mean?”

“They called me in to hear about my actions during the war and were... not impressed,” Draco explained with a humorless smile.

For some reason, Hermione felt her stomach drop.

She didn’t dare ask him anything further, and Draco was happy enough to steer the topic back to the safer waters of budget law and taxes.

* * *

“Are you going down to breakfast with us?” Parvati asked.

Hermione closed her copy of the Wizengamot Code for Criminal Procedure with annoyance. She was on her fourth re-read and couldn’t find anything helpful.

“Oh, yes, wait a second,” Hermione said, struggling to push the large book into her already brimming bag.

Lately, she had taken to waking up a couple of hours earlier to read about Wizengamot criminal trials and the magical justice system. To be honest, Hermione was not even sure why she’d decided to begin a thorough investigation on this topic. There was not much she could do to help and, even if she found something, it seemed that Draco was pretty much resigned to his fate.

She grabbed her heavy bag with a sigh and followed Parvati out of the Gryffindor common room.

Once in the Great Hall and after greeting everyone, Hermione sat next to Ginny and helped herself to something to eat.

“-and Hannah also mentioned that Susan was asked to speak at some of the trials,” Neville said, looking serious.

Hermione glanced at her friends, her curiosity piqued. Dean noticed and handed her the newspaper with a smile.

“We’ll finally be able to lock ‘em up and move on,” someone said, and Neville gave a reassuring smile.

 _All Death Eater trials to be concluded by next year_ , the Daily Prophet announced in large, bold letters. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s serious face dominated the cover, glaring at her proudly. The quote below him read: _The Minister assures that all criminals will go to Azkaban for good_.

Hermione swallowed her piece of toast. It felt like dry cardboard in her throat.

She made it through her classes with uncharacteristic silence, not quite giving her professors her full attention.

By the time Potions class was over, her final lesson of the day, Hermione could feel a headache coming. All those days of waking up hours early and not getting enough sleep were catching up to her. Sighing, she shoved her textbooks carelessly and exited the classroom, seriously thinking about skipping her usual visit to the library and curling up in her bed for a couple of hours.

Hermione had barely made it out of the dungeons when a sharp, tearing sound and a sudden pull in her arm broke her reverie. She watched her various pieces of parchment, quills, and books fly in every direction.

“Bloody hell,” Hermione cursed as she examined her broken bag and attempted to fix it.

It was a lost cause: she’d have to transfigure the bag completely or conjure a new one.

“Need help, Granger?” a familiar voice asked from further down the corridor.

Hermione didn’t need to turn around to know that Draco Malfoy was approaching her, acknowledging her outside of the library. This was a first.

“I’ve got it,” she said and waved her wand, transfiguring her tattered bag into a slightly bigger version.

Draco paid no mind and Accioed the scattered books and materials, gathering them in his arms and walking closer, offering them to her. Hermione concentrated on placing her items inside her new bag as quickly as possible, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t notice the titles of the books he was holding.

No luck.

“Why the sudden interest in magical criminal law and Wizengamot procedures?” he asked, his voice sounding colder than before.

She knew him enough to know that he was challenging her to lie to him or to cower away. By now, he should have known her enough to realize she would do neither.

“I read the _Prophet_ today and found the topic interesting,” Hermione answered, closing her bag and eyeing him.

A few seconds transpired in silence.

“I don’t need your pity, Granger,” he finally said, sounding tired and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t pity you,” she answered softly.

He held her gaze, inscrutable grey eyes locked on hers for a long moment.

“Then I don’t want you to make me your new charity project... or whatever it is you think you’re doing,” Draco said.

It felt like a splash of cold water to her face. Hermione stared at him, for once not knowing what to say.

“I don’t pity you,” she repeated, her voice sounding firmer than she felt. “I care.”

* * *

Draco Malfoy avoided the library for the next few days and Hermione was glad. She didn’t feel like facing him after what had ensued at the hall, dismayed at her last choice of words.

But she’d meant it. Hermione could very well continue to deny it but, deep inside, she knew better. And that realization terrified her. Because of its implications. Because of the fact that, somehow, she found herself with a jumble of _feelings_ she didn’t need or want. Because she was furious that it had snuck up on her without her even suspecting it.

_I care. I care for Draco Malfoy._

It was terrifying and infuriating and amazing all at once.

Friday came around and, with it, the excitement of the upcoming Easter holidays. This time, and even though Harry and Ron wouldn’t be there, Ginny didn’t need to insist on her offer to go to the Burrow.

* * *

Hermione decided to return to Hogwarts a few days before the holidays were finally over.

She had spent her days at the Burrow reading ahead on most of her classes and, when that was done, looking for any possible helpful detail regarding magical criminal law. It had been a fierce battle with herself, and Hermione was still avoiding the acknowledgment of her feelings, but she’d finally decided to do what felt like the right thing and continue her investigation. Maybe it would be fruitless, Hermione had reasoned, but doing something about it was infinitely better than sitting around and hating herself (for both her feelings and doing nothing about it).

By the first week of April, Hermione had found something interesting about Wizengamot hearings and decided that she needed to peruse a few books in the library for further information. Hence, on Tuesday evening, she bid Arthur, Ginny, and Molly goodbye and made an early return to the mostly-empty castle.

Hermione wasted no time in beginning her research, grabbing several tomes and heading for her favorite corner. She had barely an hour before curfew.

She was already halfway to the table when she noticed a familiar head of blond hair. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks and blinked several times. Draco Malfoy didn’t seem to notice her, apparently too engrossed in his reading. Hermione briefly considered retracing her steps and searching for a better place to sit.

But, was she planning to avoid him forever?

Her own words resonated in her ears. _I care._

Setting her jaw, Hermione made her way to her table, the one across from where he was sitting, and set down the pile of books.

At the sound, Draco Malfoy finally glanced around in confusion. Hermione pretended not to notice and pulled out the chair, intending to sit down. She ignored the shuffling behind her and the noise of wood on wood as he moved his chair.

Suddenly, he was there. Right beside her. Placing his own books down in the seat next to hers and sitting next to her. Hermione merely flipped the pages in her book, willing herself to breathe normally and feign nonchalance. She could feel his stare boring onto her.

“What do you think you’re doing, Granger?” Draco finally asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, still glancing at the book.

She began reading the paragraph again.

“I don’t need you to advocate for the Aurors or the Wizengamot to treat me nicely when I don’t deserve it.”

At that, Hermione finally tilted her head up from the book.

“You know better than that, Draco,” she said, wondering if he could feel the way she had caressed his name.

“Innocents _died_ because of me, because I couldn’t take a stand and stop being a _fucking coward_ ,” Draco snarled, his whole body shaking with anger. Anger at himself.

“You didn’t turn us in at the Manor,” she said impassively, “you recognized Harry, Ron, and me, and you didn’t turn us in.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched his jaw twitch.

“And we all know how good _that_ went,” he retorted. “You have the scars to prove it.”

“You could have let me die under the rubble that day,” she continued quietly as she turned to face him. “You could have killed me with Bellatrix’s wand or run off with it and I’d have been as good as dead.”

Malfoy’s carefully detached expression crumbled. Desperation flooded every one of his features as he faced Hermione, desperation to make her understand.

“I’m not Saint Potter,” he spat out. “I did not suddenly turn good and intended to save the world.” Draco let out a dark, humorless laugh at that. “I never had the courage of doing _anything_ worth doing,” he continued, running his long fingers through his hair viciously.

“You saved our lives, you saved my li-”

“I’m no hero, Granger.” He took a deep breath, both of his hands on the table turning to fists.

She fixed her wide brown eyes on his. Questioning him. Challenging him.

A flow of words poured from his lips at that moment, and he seemed incapable of stopping them. “It was because of you.” Even as he said it, confusion and dismay flooded his sharp features. “I didn’t want you to get hurt or… or die,” he choked out.

Draco looked away after his outburst, humiliation marring his features.

He couldn’t even understand it himself, but it was alright, Hermione thought. Neither could she. Even though she had days to process it, Hermione still failed to completely comprehend the confusing rush of feelings she had for him, especially after reminiscing about recent and past events.

Hermione reached for him, placing her small hand on top of his fisted one. She ran her fingers over his white knuckles. Draco breathed in deeply and relaxed his hands, flexing his fingers.

“I care about you, Granger.”


	4. Epilogue

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - April 19, 2000_

The final trial had concluded mere hours ago and Hermione was exhausted. After almost a year, she finally felt the tension release from her aching muscles. 

Draco had finally been cleared from most of the charges against him.

It had taken quite a long time for her to convince him of asking the Wizengamot to add a new trial date to his case, a small detail she had read about during Easter holidays at the Burrow. It had taken even more coaxing to let her step in as a witness for him.

After Hogwarts, everything had happened so fast. Draco was preemptively taken into custody until a final decision was made. The Wizengamot had been convinced that this would be a quick trial, since they had already found him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt during his preliminary trial. 

But he’d demanded new events and witnesses be taken into account and hired the best defense lawyer that money could buy. And the Wizengamot had been forced to launch a whole new process. 

Hermione had begun working at the Ministry, getting acquainted with the procedures and finding out even more information about the criminal procedures. She had taken an interest in the Death Eater trials, attending most of them and taking notes. She also took an interest in Draco Malfoy’s case and visited his cell at least once every two weeks, something the _Prophet_ had not missed.

When the list of new witnesses for Draco Malfoy’s case was announced, there was a small uproar in the magical community. For some reason, all of the members of the Golden Trio were included as witnesses _for_ the defendant. It was surely a misunderstanding, people commented, dismissing the information.

But it became clear that it was no mistake when the _Prophet_ reported Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s accounts of the events at Malfoy Manor, something that had been discussed before but had been disregarded by the Wizengamot during the preliminary trial. The shock within magical society grew when Hermione took the stand to recount the events during the Battle of Hogwarts and challenged the Wizengamot on their previous decision to send an innocent man to Azkaban.

By the time the Wizengamot had to reach a decision, public opinion had shifted in favor of Draco Malfoy. After tension-filled days that seemed to never end, the Wizengamot announced a date for the final hearing. Funny enough, the decision was set to take place right before Easter. 

And then the most unlikely thing happened: after more than half a year, the youngest Malfoy was allowed to walk out of Azkaban after paying a considerable amount of money for reparations.

Draco Malfoy’s face was inscrutable as he listened to the final decision, his gaze fixed on some point in the farthest part of the room. Narcissa Malfoy had broken into tears in the gallery, collapsing onto her seat with relief after so long. But Draco’s stare was locked on a familiar set of brown eyes sitting in the last row of the court. Everything was finally over. Finally, _finally._

“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy! What do you plan on doing now that you’re free?” the reporters asked as he headed out of the court with his mother.

“Mr. Malfoy! How do you feel about Harry Potter now? Do you still consider him an enemy?”

But he was too busy searching for familiar dark curls and wide brown eyes and sweet features. He spotted her on the elevator, beaming at him and teary-eyed. Draco could swear on his family’s money that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“If we manage to figure this out, I will meet you at Hogwarts,” he had said to her a few days ago, on her last visit before the final hearing. “I’ll meet you back where everything started.”

“I’m sure they’ll choose wisely,” Hermione said, taking one of his hands between her small ones. “We haven’t given them many options.”

* * *

It had been hard to dodge the curious onlookers and nosy reporters, but Draco and his mother had finally been able to head to the manor. Once home, he hugged Narcissa and headed out without a word.

The lights shining from the windows welcomed him from afar and a flood of memories surged into him as he approached the castle. Draco wondered if McGonagall would allow him inside. He hesitantly pulled on the heavy gate and was surprised to feel it give.

Draco Malfoy made his way into Hogwarts, a place a part of him had been sure he’d never set foot in again. It still felt too good to be true, too surreal. It occurred to him that he hadn’t considered what he wanted to do with his life. Draco smirked: he had plenty of time to figure it out.

At first glance, the castle seemed completely deserted, save for the few ghosts who glanced at him curiously as he walked through the halls. His feet carried him to the library of their own accord. The place that had been their sanctuary for so many months.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He found her sitting at their table, peering into a book as always, and sat next to her.

* * *

Hermione felt his presence in the alcove before she saw him and turned to find his beautiful grey eyes drinking in her face. Very slowly, Draco lifted his hand to cup Hermione’s cheek. His movements were slow and deliberate, almost as if he was expecting her to bat him off and jump away from him at any second.

“Granger, I-”

His hand made contact with her and Hermione couldn’t help a small shiver. Draco inched closer, his face impossibly close to her own.

“I know,” she whispered as she stared at his lips.

And she truly did. She could feel it too.

Draco Malfoy kissed her then, softly pressing his thinner lips into her full ones. His long fingers caressed her cheek and his body turned to face her. Hermione shivered into his touch, her body reacting to him. The tip of his tongue touched her lower lip, and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. 

He devoured her with a desperation she hadn’t anticipated. Searing, hot, needy. Hermione grabbed his silky hair, bringing herself closer to him. Draco let out a low moan, the hand on her cheek moving to the nape of her neck. They were as close as they could be in this position. 

Draco placed a hand on her waist and moved his lips down to her jaw. Hermione opened her eyes and glanced at the blond boy before her. She untangled her fingers from his hair and allowed her hands to travel down his neck and shoulders. She finally placed both of her hands on his forearms, caressing him there and feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath his clothes.

His lips moved up her jaw, near her ear, and Hermione couldn’t help the small sound that escaped from her throat. 

“I’ve dreamt about this for so long,” he sighed almost inaudibly, his lips moving against the delicate skin of her neck.

“Me too,” Hermione sighed.

Hermione felt heat pooling between her legs and brought her knees together. Before she could lose her nerve, Hermione placed one of her hands atop his knee. She had only done this a couple of times, more out of curiosity than passion. And it had been so long.

She hesitated. Draco stopped his ministrations on her neck and turned to look at her, his grey eyes dark with yearning.

“Granger,” he breathed, “what are you doing?”

Even now, she could feel the familiar challenge in his voice. The teasing between them from all those months ago.

That did it. Hermione placed her hand higher, feeling him. Draco closed his eyes as she moved her fingers. 

She knew what happened next, but didn’t know how to begin. He opened his eyes slowly, staring at her like he was a starved man, and pulled her onto him. Suddenly, Hermione was straddling him and his mouth was on hers again. It was not a delicate kiss like the first had been. This one was more desperate, as he ran his fingers through her messy curls and down her back.

In this position, she could no longer rub her legs together. Hermione shifted, searching for the friction she desired, and he let out a low gasp. Draco’s hands dropped to her lower back, pressing her against him more firmly. Hermione moaned at the feel of him straining so intimately close to her.

In one swift movement, Draco stood, holding her up, and hoisted Hermione onto the table. He kissed her deeply again, his lips traveling down her neck as far as the collar of her blouse would allow. His hands moved up her shirt and splayed across her stomach, touching the soft skin there.

He looked at her, dark eyes and disheveled hair.

Hermione pushed her hips closer to him, wanting him to touch more of her. As if he had read her mind, Draco cupped her breasts. Hermione moaned and leaned back. She felt his fingers sneak under her bra and wander over her sensitive skin.

He watched her closely, taking in all the reactions of her body. His hands moved downwards, and his fingers danced at the edge of her proper skirt.

Hermione whimpered as his hands inched up her legs and under her skirt. His hand sneaked inside and she could feel his long fingers ghosting over her knickers. She felt him move the fabric aside and touch her lightly. 

She moved her hand to his trousers and fumbled with the button. She wanted to do this. Draco stopped his movements and caught her eye, taking in the resolution in her features. He helped her remove the final barriers between them. 

Hermione moved closer to the edge of the library table and put her arms around him. She could feel him pushing against her. Hermione searched for his lips, dragging his head down towards her. Draco moved very slowly, taking his time until they were fully connected. She felt him move against her and wondered why it had never felt quite like this before. 

He continued for a few more torturous minutes, letting her get used to the sensations and gathering his bearings. Hermione brought her legs together around him, enclosing him. He could feel every inch of him touching every crevice inside her. Draco groaned with pleasure and pushed into her harder, his body moving with her perfectly.

She gripped him tighter, pressing her legs against his body, feeling his lean muscles moving between her, against her. Filling her. The harsh surface of the wooden table rubbed against her skin but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when her senses were being filled and intoxicated by Draco Malfoy. 

Hermione glanced at his face; he was already watching her. This was not the selfish boy she knew or the guarded young man she had gotten to know. His face was, for once, displaying all the raw emotions that had been hidden for Merlin knew how long. Draco brought a hand up to caress her cheek, much like he had before, and Hermione felt herself very close. She grabbed onto him and buried her face against his neck, listening to his shuddering breaths as he quickened his rhythm. 

The wave of pleasure hit her suddenly and Hermione trembled against him, his neck drowning most of the desperate sounds she made as it washed over her. Draco came shortly after, pulsing inside her and letting out a low sound. Their bodies slumped against each other for a long moment.

Finally, Hermione felt him step away from her. The air hit her suddenly, cold replacing the warmth of him, and Hermione glanced at him feeling slightly confused. Draco ran a hand through his hair and extended the other one out to her, intending to help her down from the table. She took his hand and began readjusting herself.

Once she had straightened her clothing, Hermione looked up at him. She didn’t know what to expect. Draco stared at her intently, his grey eyes conveying everything. Conveying all the emotions she could feel too. 

How would it go from here? Hermione didn’t care. The only thing she was sure of was that she cared about him, and he cared about her, too. There was nothing else in the world to worry about, and that was what they needed. 

For now, it was all that mattered.


End file.
